Ike Reilly’s the kind of guy you watch from a distance. If his lyrics are to be taken literally, the man is a self-destructive mess and the kind of in-your-face sensationalist who views every potential friend as a potential opponent. Which makes for some exciting old-school rock n’ roll. Reilly may have started out a kid from small-town America — Libertyville, IL — but he’s grown into a big city con man who uses guitar riffs for muscle and his fast-talking mouth to weave in and out of trouble on a regular basis. With each album, Reilly never runs out of wasted nights to celebrate or enemies to condemn. The acoustic-based “Broken Parakeet Blues” shows a compassionate side to the American soldier, but Reilly’s mostly interested in sex and drugs as a daily regimen. “Valentine’s Day in Juarez,” the junkyard blues of “Let’s Get Friendly” and “The Nighttime is a Liar” are noir-capers where sin and shadows remain sacred. Reilly howls like a committed new Dylan, but sometimes it’s the simple primal locomotion of his backing group that makes the loudest and most pointed statement (“I Hear the Train”).